Searching For The Sun
by La Fata Morgana
Summary: Legolas finds something in Rivendell besides a quest... (chapter three up)
1. Searching For The Sun - Rivendell

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**Searching For the Sun**   
Chapter One****

as roleplayed by   
Kabanas and Morgana 

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**Disclaimer: **Legolas belongs to Tolkien, and we thank him endlessly for creating such a fascinating character. Laurëlómë belongs to me, and to Legolas. In our usual style, this was written in an RP format, with Kris writing Legolas while I wrote Laurelome. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't like RPing from books unless the RP takes place within a period of time not written about in the book. Hence, this story and it's subsequent chapters take place within "gaps" in the trilogy. We're taking liberties with Legolas here, but nowhere in the story does it say that he never had a relationship with anyone. Artistic liscence, anyone? :> This is a continuing epic...   


**Mountain pass overlooking Rivendell, morning in early autumn.******

**Legolas** The mountain city of Rivendell. One of the most beautiful pockets of forestry in Middle Earth. On a sharp incline of natural, ochre-colored rock sits a still figure dressed in the traditional green and brown colors of his Sidran upbringing. His light, blank eyes stare out into the opposite canyon where citadels of the finest Elven architecture lay dormant in the morning mist. Above his silk white tresses fall the autumnal leaves of this eternally deciduous city. He is, by trade, an archer--one of the finest from the forests of Mirkwood. By birth, he is Prince Legolas, a Sidran elf of the high royal blood of elves who have ruled the woods south of Rivendell since before the War of the Ring. Beside him lies the most efficient weapon in all of Middle Earth, the bow and arrow. The deadliest element belonged to the most beautiful race in existence. 

**Legolas** With fleeting movement, the sharply featured prince hops to his feet, scooping the bow and quiver of arrows with subtle grace. Though spritely by nature, he is as common an elf as they come--tall, lithe, supremely beautiful. With one foot braced forward against the natural slope of the rock, he takes in one more cool inhale of the sharp morning air. He had arrived in Rivendell only the afternoon prior, and this was his last moment of solitude before leaving Elrond's hospitality to carry out camp with the Fellowship of Nine. There is a beauty so wondrous it nearly brings a frown to his gentle face. Disciplining himself against such hopeless sorrow, however, he schools his face so his rosy lips do not betray the turmoil in his heart. 

**Legolas** The race of elves feel the influx of balance between heartache and sorrow the most. They are the ultimate paradoxical race--feather light but strong as an Uruk-Hai, nimble but devoid of clumsiness. And this beautiful, perfect specimen of an elf found he was having a harder time than usual saying goodbye again. Setting out for the breakfast halls became a leisurely walk for Legolas. He wanted to relish every single footstep in Rivendell until his very last. Along the way, he finds company in a few familiar faces, many of them cousins or relatives long removed. Doubtless, Prince Legolas was the talk amongst many elven families, both for his skill in archery and his superior handsomeness. 

**Legolas** Respectful at all times of his own kind, he is peaceful by nature and sinks into any situation or company with utmost ease. Entering the massive archway to the tables elevated by carved ivy, Legolas stops short and scruffs the light dust from his leather boots on the bristle-thorn rug. When one of Elrond's own personal staff greets him, he politely declines with a low bow of his head to signal that his weapons were not to be touched. Already the hall was filled with the sweet smell of the finest foods available in the forests. The predominant scent of ripe fruit and scorchingly strong wine was what attracted him most. Unlike his Sindarin diet of starchier food, Legolas always had a fine appreciation for Rivendell's orchards and winery. At once, he is shown to the table seating the other Eight. 

**Legolas** He quietly seats himself next to his elven brothers, his chair an ornately-carved contraption made from the hardiest material in Mirkwood. It was worthy of being called a throne. Heading the table on this Last Breakfast was Master Elrond, lord to these realms. The atmosphere was generally a temperate one. The nine companions were none too eager to share whatever looming worry presided over their minds. Nine? Legolas thought to himself, resting his shaft arrows silently on the stone floor. Here, there were only seven... And it was here that the fair archer became altogether relieved and emboldened by the last guest to enter the breakfast hall. For at that moment, Master Gimli entered the majestic grounds with unclean clothes, a gaudy battle ax, and a dwarf's infamous sour temper. 

**Legolas** The seated companions, on their part, tried to bid the last Fellow no heed as he took to his seat and immediately began preying upon his light breakfast. That commenced the feast, and Legolas gathered some grapes for his plate. Legolas quietly seats himself next to his elven brothers, his chair an ornately-carved contraption made from the hardiest material in Mirkwood. It was worthy of being called a throne. Heading the table on this Last Breakfast was Master Elrond, lord to these realms. The atmosphere was generally a temperate one. The nine companions were none too eager to share whatever looming worry presided over their minds. 

**Legolas** The prince had brought the golden goblet lined with rhinestone to his lips when a comment from a nearby elven emissary perturbed him. "A most vile interruption," conceded the Sidran elf, swathed in a gray uniform. Only Legolas was wearing the distinct warrior outfit of his people this morning. The other elves wore traditional garb for this supposedly tranquil occasion. A slender finger rose from his goblet and is subtly pointed it at his neighbor, bidding the elf to be silent. Legolas wanted no quarreling this morning. Unfortunate for them both, Gimli proved his hearing was better than anyone thought, for though his ears were covered with a bushel of hair and a thick helmet in the Nordic tradition, he caught the disparaging comment perfectly. 

**Legolas** "Would you carrrre to call me 'vile' in a louderrr tone, Elf?" came the upset reply. The entire table immediately fell to silence. Frowning was Legolas' only reaction to the compromising situation he and his brother had suddenly been found in. Elrond became the bravest of them to shatter the tension. "Master Gimli, would you care for more mulberry wine?" The High Elf's wide, regal brows challenged his angry guest to show more politeness. "What I would like," Gimli's beady eyes tore every which way about the table, centered on every face, his broad, stout hands gripping the edge, "is to be trrreated like a DWARF and not some misbegotten hobbit!" 

**Legolas** Pippin and Merry were immediately on their feet. "Woot d'you mean about THAT, sir!" cried Merry. "I'll show YOU th'meanin' of misbegotten!" said Pippin, though not soon after he whispered: "Merry? Woot's 'misbegotten' mean?" In no time, the entire breakfast hall was in an uproar, and what became of the beautifully-centered candelabra on the table was a target for Legolas' unexpected, nervous temper. Out of nowhere, an arrow had sliced through the candle dead center, the steel head jutting out to the other side. There, standing atop his throne-chair was the Archer Prince, his bow empty, but his hand still quivering over the string. All eyes returned to their proper sockets and were bolted on Legolas. "Please! I'd like...more than anyone to have my breakfast...in peace..." 

**Legolas** To the relief of some, the nervousness of others, the breakfast hall was ultimately pacified. "My masters..." Legolas lowered his bow, along with his figure from the chair, "Let us not quarrel this last breaking of fast before Mordor..." Turning to the insulted dwarf, he added with an earnest frown: "Master Dwarf, my Sidran cousin and I are humbled by your presence. Accept my chain in apology." In tandem, the Mirkwood elves lower their heads after being humbled by Legolas' display. He had carried that cross with him for fifteen generations--it was a gift from the high officers of his father--yet now he was unearthing it from within the tight enclosure of his brown jacket and presenting it freely to his stout adversary. Gimli would have none of it and left the hall with a profound grunt and the heavy drag of his steel-rimmed feet. 

**Legolas** The other dwarves followed. With a heavy heart, Legolas turned to his officers and elven companions, watching as breakfast quietly disbanded then. Only the Hobbits stole with them a piece of bread or a stalk of grapes to eat in the privacy of their chambers. And though the broad-shouldered humans were unimpressed with the dwarves' display, they maintained their circle around Elrond, the greater. Embarrassed and discouraged, Legolas gave his Sidran friend one ambiguous look of disappointment before bristling off from the room, stalking down the winding bricks steps into the lower garden. 

**A garden terrace, Rivendell...**

**Laurelome** Among the people of Lorien, she was known as "Carnimirie", the red jewel, for she bore what no other in that gleaming, silver city did. Half-elven was the lady Laurëlómë, and her descent was clearly visible in the wisps of golden-red hair that waft behind her as she takes quiet steps through the gardens of Rivendell. This was no silver-blonde elf of fable. Her hair was perhaps different, but her eyes were Elven blue, her skin fairer than most, and her ears gracefully tipped. A slim hand toys with a small braid trailing over her shoulder as she meanders through Lord Elrond's pristine city. Nearby, the din of an argument barely catches her attention, paying it no mind when there is a book to be read. 

**Laurelome** Choosing a quiet glade occupied only by herself, the whisper of leaves falling from their branches, and the gaze of some statue who has more right to sit in the garden than she, for Laurëlómë is only visiting from Lorien for the season. The rustle of pages add their voice to the quiet vista as she opens to where she last read from. Laurelome, despite her complete preoccupation with the book, catches the sound of footfall, even if it was the quiet steps of an Elf. Her head moves not an inch from it's delicate bascule over the book she holds reverently, but her eyes flicker upwards to the garden's staired entrance, arctic gaze buried beneath coal-black lashes. Laurelome would have spoken a disparaging word for the breaking of her quiet, but the figure that stalks into the outdoor arboretum silences her before he even knows it. Here was a prince, and she ready to admonish. Suspecting that the heir to Greenwood the Great would wish to go about his business, Laurëlómë returns her divided attention to the book. 

**Legolas **His each step seems weighed with lead as his pace becomes ever slower when the bottom step is reached. Although elvish hearing is near-perfect in sharpness, the toil inside his mind blocks out the singsong noises of Rivendell in the morning. The sun had fully set when he approached fern-embraced balcony. In his hands lay the silver cross, which he poured all this attention into. The necklace, though made of metal, was light, no heavier than a fleck of dust. Perfectly symmetrical, it contained buttresses and various twists of silver ivy, but no stones. Why wouldn't Gimli accept it? And if he was to journey so far south with the disgruntled soul, how far would he expect himself to last amidst such hostile company? 

**Legolas** With effort, Legolas straightens from his downcast demeanor and replaces the necklace inside the smooth, near-velvet folds of his doublet. Dark brows lift with renewed pride as the prince leans his full weight against the hardy stone lean-to, eyes closed to the east. But then, those long, feathery lashes once again open in alarm. It was one of the rare times Legolas had forgotten his armaments for someone to claim and own. Swiftly disengaging from the balcony, the long-legged elf makes for the winding stairs again in a jog. If only he kept his eyes to the upper reaches, he might have gotten to his bow sooner. Something stole the prince's attention, something far more profound than a lost arrow. A lost maiden. 

**Legolas** Frozen in place, back turned against the dawn, Legolas studied the golden richness of her hair--such an unusual color!--before his slate-blue eyes fall upon her book. Then a chill wind entered through the facade and Legolas' preoccupations were broken. With a few scruffings of leather on the floor, the brown and green figure of Mirkwood's prince had all but disappeared into the breakfast hall again. 

**Laurelome** She is inwardly amused at the confusion she sees in the expression of the prince, which she caught out the corner of her eye, and even more amused when he left in a hurry. Closing her book, she sets it down on the white stone bench and stands to inspect the garden. She spends a few moments musing over the statue, the water and the birds in the trees. 

**Legolas** He is at once greeted by a morose-looking servant who hands him his bow and quiver of arrows, the former of which stood taller than most of the Fellowship. But he dwells inside the sweet-smelling hall no less than a small showing of gratitude (a pursing of his lips and a nod) and enough civility to not let his excitement carry further than between him and the servant. With an emotionless ear-to-ear grin and a mechanical retreat back out the double-arched doors, Legolas manages to leave one of Elrond's men with an utterly stupefied look as he closes it shut in front of him. On leathery heels, he turns, tightly-woven tresses as silver as his eyes dancing in an elegant swoop away from his face and over his shoulders. 

**Legolas** Pushing the potted flowers aside from the stairway edge, Legolas takes one courageous breath before peeking over the rim. Left and right, his gaze scans the bottom benches for any sign of movement--a catch of sunlight on a hardbound book, the glow of her curious red hair, the makings of a lady's gown--something! But dart his eyes may along the bottom grounds, he could find no sign of her. He dared to go no further than the top flight. No sense looking both desperate and foolish, and if a passerby were to say anything about Legolas' cheeks at this moment, why that individual would describe it as beet red. Blame it not on his desperation but the blood flowing down from his heart to the very shiny surface of his drawn brows. He had spent the next few moments doubled over this way, secretly hoping to catch sight of her. 

**Laurelome** The elven woman flicks her gaze upward to the balcony from where she stands just below it under guise of inspecting a specimen of flower not found in Lorien. The rustlings of plants above her head is nearly too much for her solemn lips to bear, and so they turn upwards as she peers out from under the lip of the balcony with a politely curious visage. "Were you looking for something?" Laurëlómë asks, schooling the amusement out of her tone, and brushing a lock of her curious red hair out of her eyes. It wouldn't do to seem as if she were mocking the Prince of Mirkwood. 

**Legolas** He immediately finds himself ducking for dear life, as though a hail of arrows had just been launched from the direction of the sun. From his bent-over position only moments before, the archer prince suddenly finds himself in a far more uncomfortable and compromising position--he'd been found! Stand or hide? Hide or stand? For a moment, Legolas seems unsure of whether response to take, as he awkwardly goes from bending, to straightening, to bending and back again. He hides the unsightly, bloody burns he had received from the spiteful leaves and the stone edges both behind his hands, paying them no heed as the pounding inside his chest. A most surprised expression crosses his dear face. 

**Legolas** A chorus of snickering behind him has Legolas wheeling around to find the ragtag duo of Merry and Pippin wedged between the tiny crack in the now open doorway. Color returning to his face, he sets at once to shutting the doors again. "Ow," comes the reply from inside. A slender palm sliding down the beautiful cherry wood, Legolas presses his eyes shut for courage once more and silently exhales. "The sun," he replies, turning slowly to greet her. It was the best reply he could come up with--and perhaps the first. Brows drooping at their outer rims to present a more gentle and personable face, Legolas timidly descends down the stairs one step at a time. 

**Laurelome** Laurëlómë watches the prince descend the steps with barely covered amusement. The sound of a door being pushed shut perplexes her momentarily, but none the less puts it out of mind as she takes to dropping her head gracefully in respect to he and his station. "I'm afraid you won't find it under the balcony," she answers, stepping fully out from her shadow. "Unless Master Elrond is far more clever than we think, that is, and lends Rivendell as the morning home of the sun?" Pausing by the beautifully crafted fountain, her slender hand emerges from the finely draped clothe of her gown, a soft fabric that bore a dusky golden color and accents of a brighter amber. 

**Legolas** Nimble as a cat, the fair elf descends upon the last step but keeps to the wall. He rests both feet flatly on the ground, both arms drawn back and tensely holding onto the strap of his sling. "I would that were so," comes his breathy reply at last, for it seems the very air has turned against the prince and made him quieter than usual. "I would that night never came to Rivendell...even the brightest lamp in your city cannot push back the darkness that creeps upon us like the tides." How he longed to one day walk amongst the shore... but even more so now, how he longed to know this maiden's name! Bolder now, he presents himself with a lengthy stride forward, his bow low, polite, and deliberately slow. "Good morrow and pardon, miss. I am not of these parts." 

**Laurelome** "My peace has assuredly not been disturbed, and likewise I am not of this fair city." Laurëlómë says in earnest, not wishing to send him back off the way he came. A little breeze rustles through the garden and fills the silence with it's voice. And yet other whispers could be heard in the relative silence. Giggling voices, at that. She suddenly understands what Legolas had closed the door upon as she perks an ear towards the balcony with a smile. A tiny pebble is lifted off the ground and tossed gently over the upper railing. A chorus of surprised voice grow clearer as two Hobbit-heads peak down at them, to the lady's amusement. 

**Legolas** Blankly following after the pebble, Legolas' long neck cranes over his shoulder where he spies two halflings piled from within the kitchen door, spying on them in turn. The prince's jaws immediately clamp shut. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder it seems," he declares aloud, eyes locked on the dark, curly heads. "I am none your betters, sir hobbits. There is nothing to see here but the dawn and if you be men of honorable esteem, you would prove the more civil if this villanous spying is ceased." It was his longest speech since the Council meeting. "Are hobbits not a race of honorable esteem, Mr. Merry? Mr. Peregrin?" The halflings, tricked into defending their dignity, rise and respond in the affirmative. 

**Legolas** Shoving the more mischevous Pippin inside, Merry makes a display of biting down on his apple before rushing back inside the hall, saving himself a box on the ears from the cunning elf. Legolas returns his attention to the woman in front of him, embarrassed for them both. "If we are strangers this meeting, then your name perhaps I can convince you to share..." he continues, his voice regaining its silvery chime and beautiful wind. "For I will not be long in Rivendell and it was not the sun I was seeking within the ivy...but you..." 

**Laurelome** She ducks her head sideways to avoid the faint blush in her ivory cheeks being seen at the Hobbit's spying. With an embarassed smile, she watches the Elven prince smartly call upon their pride to set them to other matters than monitoring the garden. "If that is the case, then surely I can spare my name to you. I am called Laurëlómë. I need not ask you the same question, for I already know your name." 

**Legolas** Laurëlómë. Legolas' mind whispered it over and over as if to size its fairness. "Are you from Mirkwood, lady? What fair city do you call home? I am at a disadvantage." 

**Laurelome** "Lorien is my home, sir, and I visit this place for a season each year to learn of the events that take place throughout the lands. Lorien does not concern itself with outside affairs often, which is unfortunate for those who are keen to keep abreast of recent events." All through her speech, her eyes darted about the garden, as if this would be trivial to royalty. 

**Legolas** So she would think, but the humbled face of "royalty" here and now never once dared to take his light, silvery eyes away from observing her movements. She bore herself confidently, though much too threatened by his high bearing. Perhaps it was a lack of experience with women on his part, but the submissive Sindarin nobleman was sure he was doing a prickly job of presenting himself. She couldn't be more interested in him than she was in the roses growing like tapestry along the wall... Pushing that thought aside, Legolas turns to another, one on a more surprising note. His eyes and ears veritably perk up to greet her cool gaze, both of their complexion porcelain against the sun. 

**Legolas** "If I may be so brazen to respond in discord, it none too foolish a thing to not concern oneself with the darker news. There is a quickening in the trees, lady, the growing smell of rot in the air. I fear the worse is yet to come and chance has it that I will be throwing myself headlong into the pitch black of my own misgivings..." At this point, a fine line had creased the high, youthful brow of the archer. It is evident he is affected by the root of evil more strongly than most elves are sensitive to. Swallowing, Legolas lifts his wandering eyes to look at Laurëlómë with more cordiality. "I hope to one day visit Lorien... Perhaps when the grass is greener for walking again. When I have satisfied my oath to serve Lord Elrond's mission." Here he stops briskly, not wanting to say further of the Fellowship's quest, in the name of secrecy. "What of the Lady of the Wood? Is it true she can foresee into the heart and mind of any living creature?" 

**Laurelome** She feels a pang of sadness as trouble shadows his features. Even the news of the darkness in the lands did not concern her so much as the passing of serenity from his expression. But then it lightened again, and she felt able to breathe freely. Nodding solemnly, she answers, "It is true, and a frightful thing when one first experiences it!" 

**Legolas** "The Lady, too, is yet another of the world's wonders I long to see before my old age." A smile, beautiful in its plainness, innocent in its intention, lifts at the corners of Legolas' lips. He lifts sunkissed hands up to his quiver to adjust their weight along his back, accustomed to their cumbersome and awkward load. For a moment, he does nothing but contain the perfect silence between them, letting the wind carry his thoughts more eloquently than any word he uttered ever could. It is as this point, after carefully flipping the pages of his mind for a reply, that Legolas finds he has none. There were no more words to say; he had extended this greeting far enough. Retreating a step reluctantly, he steadies his armaments with a black-leather wrist, bowing low. Part of him wished she would entreat him to halt in his progress there and now. 

**Legolas** "In light of all this talk of fear, however, Lady Laurëlómë, I now fear I am wasting away your precious reading time. Although... I cannot lie in the face of such beauty, my heart is stricken so. Not with thorns or claws, evil or malice--I have fallen under your spell, dear lady... I should very much like to see you again..." 

**Laurelome** Her cheeks flush lightly for the second time in a very short span of minutes, and again lowerrs her head to hide both the color, and her pleased expression. Entreat him, she would, and speaks up, rather more boldly than she feels, "It is not a book I have not read many times before, and I should like to think my time would be better spent in your company..." 

**Legolas **His shoulders rise slowly, as though suspended on water, one breath after another. And another. And another... Soon enough, it is quite evident that Legolas' breathing is nothing more but a visual representation of the drumming inside his heart. More than ever, he dared not take his eyes off her. Nothing, not in any lifetime has he felt such supreme elation as this moment; nothing to equal the happiness embracing his soul. Elven-born he may be, and light as a feather, Legolas suddenly felt as if he could walk on air. He had watched others fall under love's spell for ages, though he never felt drawn to anyone so quickly as this woman was clouding his heart now. Because of this, he knows no measure of love other than this own primitive feelings at this moment. 

**Legolas** If looking for the sun had confused him earlier, he was doubly confused merely turning to Laurëlómë for answers. And so, instead of scooping her up into a kiss as the moment certainly called for, he maintained the saintly distance from her, tensing his grip once again along the sturdy leather grip of his bow. It was all he knew how to do. Be polite. For although Legolas could cease the advance of an enemy at 200 yards, kill a parade of orcs with robotic efficiency, and seemingly had nine lives, he was no showman. He was efficient, practical and sensible, with little taste for folly or brashness. He was an impeccable perfectionist concerning all things in skill, conversation, and politics. 

**Legolas** For him, these unfamiliar sensations ebbing and flowing throughout his entire figure had no name. He could not yet arrive at an explanation. He only knew he had to be with her. Shaken, he steps aside to make room for her steps. "If that is how you truly feel, lady, then I will be made your most honored servant if you were to join me now in breaking fast." 

**Laurelome **A smile, while slow to come across her features, comes none the less, and is quietly brilliant when it does. She cannot seem to pull her gaze away from this enchanting man, and takes a silent step forward to the bottom of the steps. "I would very much enjoy that, if a mere harper should be allowed to eat in Lord Elrond's hall." 

**Legolas **Legolas's head reared back. How...intriguing. Fixing his stance so his gait is at its fullest, the prince folded his hands leisurely at his front, an ambiguous twist to his normally tranquil features. "A harper," he comments innocently. Some would think he's being arrogant at this point, but Legolas knew not of such attitude. It was common enough for people to mistake him as a lowborn elf without royal distinction. He blended so well into any situation or company, it was easy for others to mistake his kindness with a form of servitude. And now this image of Laurëlómë seated beside a harp, the idea of her making what ought to be beautiful music--it was almost too good to be true. In fact, it was an uncanny coincidence. For those closest to the Sindarin nobleman knew of his appreciation for fine elven music. 

**Legolas** He showed more rigorous interest in it than most individuals in his race. Escorting her step by step up the winding stone steps, Legolas has unfortunately fooled himself that he will ever get to hear her play. His fate was due to the southwest, not here in Rivendell. In fact, Lord Elrond was preparing their leave closely set to high noon today. Child-like with excitement now, Legolas pries open the double-doors for Laurëlómë, unaware of just how precious little time he had left to say his goodbyes. "I will have to entreat you honor me another small gift aside from your presence, then, for it has been long since I've heard a -woman- at the harp. 

**Legolas** "The ones in Mirkwood are bards, of strong fingers yes, but none can equal a woman's delicate orchestration on the strings. Perhaps, before I leave you may play--" A dark, towering figure with the most stony expression imaginable fell upon Legolas' shadow out of nowhere. "Legolas," his elder interrupted him. "Lord Elrond, what bidding of yours may I serve--" "No more than this, Prince of Mirkwood. Go now to your chamber and prepare to make leave. You will be joined shortly by my officers and ladies. Please accept my gifts of goodwill that they bring you. I will be waiting in my library proper if you are in need of my presence." A curt nod, and just like that, Lord Elrond dismissed his Sidran cousin to make haste. 

**Legolas** Legolas knew not what to feel in his heart as it divided him in two different directions: one, towards the road; the other, to this woman staring painfully at his face as though the universe, mirrored in his eyes, had shattered there. All this time, he had taken care not to fall trap to folly and nonsense, especially to leisure. And what was he doing now but all that? It seems this prince had dug himself into his own grave. There was little use explaining to Laurëlómë about such sudden departure. Even if she hadn't figured out by now that he was, indeed, part of the whispered Fellowship of Nine ready set to do battle against Sauron himself, he could not tell her himself. 

**Legolas** And so, bracing himself for what his next footstep, Legolas hardens his face into steel and manages the only response he can show according to his duty--he coldly brushes by her, heading for his room. Prince of Mirkwood, newborn lover, now turning a blind eye to love to save the kingdom of Rivendell and Middle Earth beyond... 

**Laurelome** She had barely opened her mouth to make an enthusiastic offer to play her harp for him whenever he wished, when the Lord of Rivendell imposed upon their enamoured conversations. She listened with a dejected silence, not moving even an inch until Elrond had again departed. At that moment, the sadness that had earlier clouded her features at seeing the prince troubled shadowed her visage once more. But this time, it was far deeper, more profound, utterly devistated. She had let him hold her heart for a moment, and this was what became of it. Yet amidst the grief, there was a determination that it would not end this way. She had indeed figured the purpose of his journey. And knowing that journey, knew they would pass through her home on the way. And so, watching his figure down the hallway, admiring the grace with no small sorrow, steps back down into the heartbreakingly beautiful garden to collect her book -her journal- from the bench, where two Hobbits inspected it curiously. 

**Laurelome** Laurëlómë despairs not so deeply that the sight fails to bring a smile to her lips. This story would not end in sadness like so many often did. "Sir Hobbits!" The red-haired Elf speaks through the filtering sunlight. "I would beg you to carry a note to the Prince of Mirkwood for me once your journey is underway." The two Hobbits had been speaking of their part in the whispered Fellowship, and her keen hearing had not failed to discern their meanings. Both nodded with a stunned curiosity as she extracted something from the hand that had remained shrouded in her gown. A ring, one which had no bearing on the fate of the world 

**Laurelome** A ring that carried only a request of rememberance from it's owner to the archer. Fashioned in silver, it bore likeness to a winding vine, and amisdt the bloom of a rose sat a jewel of golden-red. 'Carnimirie,' she wrote quickly on a page from her journal as the Hobbits watched silently. 'Bear this and be safe. Melanenye. ~Laurëlómë.' 

**Laurelome** Enfolded in the note and entrusted to the pair of Hobbits, who were sworn to deliver it only after they had set out, she smiled and collected her journal, setting off through the gardens. Pausing, though, on the balcony, she regards the morning sky and speaks softy to the wind, "I hope you find the sun." 

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Love it? We thought so. So read on to see what happens!   
~Morgana 


	2. Searching For The Sun - Lothlorien

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**Searching For the Sun**   
Chapter Two****

as roleplayed by   
Kabanas and Morgana 

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**Disclaimer: **Legolas belongs to Tolkien, and we thank him endlessly for creating such a fascinating character. Laurëlómë belongs to me, and to Legolas. In our usual style, this was written in an RP format, with Kris writing Legolas while I wrote Laurelome. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't like RPing from books unless the RP takes place within a period of time not written about in the book. Hence, this story and it's subsequent chapters take place within "gaps" in the trilogy. We're taking liberties with Legolas here, but nowhere in the story does it say that he never had a relationship with anyone. Artistic liscence, anyone? This second chapter takes place during the month and a half that the Fellowship spend in Lothlorien.   


**Lothlorien, late autumn / early winter.**

**Laurelome** Amongst the trees and flowers of the silver city of Lorien, there was whisper that the fabled fellowship of nine had passed over Khazad-dum, and made their way into the realm of the Lady of the Wood. And the very morning of their arrival, a lady of warm red hair and gentle fingers upon her instrument hears tell of the guests. To a passing archer, one who had been in the woods at the time, she inquires as to the presence of an elf among their party. Answered in the affirmative, Laurëlómë wonders at the swell of hope that passes through her figure. And so, creeping through the balconies and staircases of Lorien, she finds herself poised above the camp of the Fellowship. 

**Laurelome** The harper smiles quietly as the one she seeks seems to wander off, and along the overhead paths and stairs she follows, until at last he pauses to inspect his surroundings. "Were you looking for something?" she calls down, amusement wafting along in her voice. 

**Legolas** Ever since his departure from the Dwarf City of Moria, Legolas had felt he had been running for his life. The anxious jog into the old redwood forests of fabled Lothlorien ended on a brief note, and his stay there was commenced with many fierce arrow shafts pointed at his face in greeting. It was then, when he found himself surrounded by gray-robed elves that Legolas finally confirmed fable to be a reality. The Fellowship had, indeed, strayed into the realm of the Lady of Wood. By the time the remaining eight of their party had been escorted into the deeper trenches of Lorien's kingdom-metropolis, the fresh sorrow of Gandalf the Grey's passing had been temporarily relieved by the sheer awesome sight of the silver city. 

**Legolas** Monolith trees as majestic as the towers of Gondor contained in their fat trunks winding staircases of pure amber that lead to the canopy housings. Legolas was lost in his own fascination with the city as with the other seven. So much so that his steps strayed and he was soon found at the back of the parade, eyes shooting up towards the heavens. There didn't seem to be an end to their height! Even sunlight had difficulty penetrating the complex network of leaves and branches that provided a makeshift rooftop for the entire city. Here, indeed, the Sindarin prince felt peace and security more than he had ever encountered since their initial journey out of Rivendell. Stalking now over the gargantuan roots that had surfaced from the ground, Legolas didn't quite know what to make of this world. 

**Legolas** It felt as if he had strayed into a dream, for indeed, lamps of every size illuminated the city so that its amber structures glittered like starshine in the unsettling darkness. More striking than that, however, was the voice that greeted Legolas next, nearly taking him off balance. Wheeling around like a human turret, the archer's bow was already pointed in Laurelome's direction and a hand was ready set to pull a deadly arrow out of his quiver. If only his heart hadn't stopped him. It was profoundly symbolic that in this position the beautiful silver ring on his left thumb was perfectly framing the woman's face at this distance. 

**Legolas** Lowering his bow, Legolas was shot in multiple points along his heart with utmost longing. "The sun...." he found himself repeating. But it was truth he spoke of, for he was searching for sunlight to better illuminate that feminine figure high in the trees. An eternal moment passes between them, awkward and sour as their parting. But then, something within the prince moves him to action, so that in seconds he is bounding towards the amber stairs, claiming the walkway with long, anxious strides as though he was pursuing the sun itself. What seemed like a continent of distance between them now was separated only by ten feet of long planks, for Legolas had scaled up to the top of the talan platform in the blink of an eye. He stops shortly there, hesitating. 

**Laurelome** She can only stare, her eyes transfixed on the sight she had longed to see for so long, and even if she had been shadowing the graceful archer for a few moments, to look squarely upon his face now caused her a moment of breathlessness. "I…." Seems to be about all she can muster, until, "You received my note?" 

**Legolas** Theprince advances forward, using his bow as something of a crutch to lean his stumbling frame on. Without breaking his stride, a small parchment is pulled from inside the black rubber cuff tightly wrapped along his left forearm. The cuff was the mark of every archer. It was needed to brace one's wrist against bending during the stringing of the arrow. Stopping in his tracks, now an embrace away from Laurelome, Legolas lowers his eyes to the cursive Quenya on the unrolled paper, nodding slowly. He then turns his attention on the ring in his hand, running a finger along the distinct canyons in the metal ivy. "I did...and for the better part of my days away from Rivendell, it was all I ever thought about..." 

**Legolas** Undoing the clasp of his necklace, Legolas removes the beautifully crafted cross from his neck. The chain is slowly gathered inside her parchment, the centerpiece left atop the silver mound. Tenderly taking her hand, he places the gift on her palm. "If one day I reach the sea, I will turn to the waves in hope of hearing your song. And if I am given audience to the melodies of your sweet harp, then I will know you have come bearing this token for returning to its master." Collecting her other hand now and enfolding it over the necklace, Legolas lowers himself in a bow before tenderly pulling away from her touch. 

**Laurelome **She had harbored second thoughts about the message she'd given the Hobbits to deliever, but only after they'd gone. And now, it seemed, it had not been in vain. For a moment, she stands quiet, regarding the silver necklace piled atop the parchment, and relishing the touch of his hand. And still silent, she clasps the necklace about her throat. casts her gaze back to the prince, a brilliant warmth flickering in the glacial blue. 'I shall wear it always,' her gaze said, and remained studying his features with a half-smile. Yet, like that day in the garden, she spies a sadness that settled over his face. It must have been a harrowing journey. Not able to bear that shadow of sorrow, she speaks then. Laurelome's tone is soft, barely above a whisper. "I must play something for you, then, as promised, that you will recognize upon that day." 

**Legolas** "May it be," Legolas declared, stepping in to seal the distance between them, "a song to last the ages." There was little he could do here for her. This was her home. He was yearning to be closer but felt restricted to a simple joining of their hands, rested lowly between them. He absorbed the shock cold of her hands and in turn pressed the remnants of Moria's searing heat into her palms. At that moment, Legolas felt the bitter memories of Gandalf's passing flooding back to his mind. They hollowed out the rest of his frame and collected along the rosy edges of his light eyes, so that the sorrow there was preserved so fully it seemed forever a part of him. To tear, to pierce, to wound-Legolas' gaze were capable of all these things when happiness escaped his heart. 

**Legolas** His eyes had glazed over with trouble and his brows wilted to the earth as if he was ready to collapse. He had been part of a journey the likes of which no elf has ever strayed away from home for. The foible of elves was their penchant to staying in the woods. Clearly now, it was for her to read between Legolas' silent lament. "Take me away from here, Laurelome…" is all that he can manage when his senses return to him. 

**Laurelome** And what heart could resist a plea such as that. Not hers, surely, for it could hardly even stand to watch the grief script itself across his soulful eyes. Retrieving one of her hands, she lifts it to rest gently upon his cheek, her whole being aching to do whatever she could to help him forget that pain. It was too deep to remove, but she could at least help ease it. Resting her palm there a moment, it then trails lightly to the back of his neck beneath that finest of hair, and gently tugs him towards her. Once closer, she inclined her head only slightly to place a feather-light kiss upon his brow. Her heels silently touch the ground again, and the hand still entwined with his leads the way down the stairs. 

**Legolas** Throughout it, the archer prince remained still as the evening star. No one had embraced him in this sweetly tender manner before. Despite status or skill, he could never afford the luxury of a warm embrace. His time spent in politics became his only passion until this age, when he learned of affection the same way he lost himself to song, the way his soul grew restless under moonlight. One day in the future, Legolas will remember this instance as the very first time he allowed himself to be lead without worry presiding over his heart. Above their heads rang the long tones of Lorien's hymns, no one voice distinguishable from the other. It was through this curtain of chanting that Legolas was lead, deep into the heart of the lamp-lit silver city. 

**Laurelome** Laurelome leads him some way into the city until, creeping through the roots and paths and stairs, there meanders a stream at the base of a tall tree with a staircase that wound not far up it's silver trunk. By the bank of the creek, in a patch of shockingly green grass, sits a delicately wrought stone bench, upon it a soft coverlet to stave off the chill of rock. Upon that coverlet sat the carefully bound book she had been studying in Rivendell, and a harp sat at the base of the vines that wove up the bench's legs. There was no mistaking that this haven, lit by the last rays of the sun, was Laurëlomë's own. The talan above was softly lit, and furnished comfortably. It is there that she leads him. 

**Laurelome** She collects her harp on the way up the graceful staircase, and settles it on a small table upon arrival. Gesturing to any one of the comfortable benches about the vast suite, she pours two goblets of wine, settling down beside Legolas with a warm smile. "It isn't much, I'm afraid, but this is my home," and here she getures humbly about. 

**Legolas** Polite sensibilities return to Legolas upon entering Laurelome's home. He stood in the middle of the vestibule at his tallest height, calmly vigilant over every inch of her belongings as though appraising their worth. It was humble enough to his standards, but his standards were consistently favorable towards everything. Moreover important was the mantle of peaceful energy that was abundant here. It flowed like sweet wine in the air, restless as water. Outside, the stream played the perfect accomplice to this harmonious setting. Legolas' nerves were instantly settled. He was familiar in this silver light, and had even dreamed of such simple beauty. Setting his armaments behind a goblet, Lorien's Sidran celebrity settled down on the edge of a wicker bench and raised his eyes to her, perfectly attentive. 

**Laurelome** Laurelome beams inwardly at the relaxation that seems to wash over Legolas, reaching for her harp. She paused no more than a moment before the perfect song came to her, and she trailed her fingers over the taut strings with all the fluid grace and expert that the prince wielded over his bow and arrows. The tune that she elicits settles perfectly into the hymn resounding. Laurelome, before long, adds words to the gentle chords, her voice echoing with crystal clarity, and yet ambiguity amongst the sounds of the forest outside, as was the manner of most Elven voices. She went on, her eyes sliding closed as she poured her heart into her song. 

**Legolas** By the end of her performance, the Silvan prince was leaning lightly in her direction, enthralled by the beauty of her song. In his eyes fell the look of sorrow. There was only pure magic within them, glazed over by awestruck longing. Her song had reminded him of his longing for home, his longing for Gandalf the Grey from the shadows, his longing for her. The galaxy of stars within his mind paused in their kaleidoscoping chaos to swirl in a circular pattern. He mentally pictured them moving in his head, continuous, in harmony with his appreciation for such fine singing. Legolas wished he had the heart to tell her how much her playing had just meant to him. It was the first glimpse of innocence he had seen since Rivendell. 

**Legolas** And oh, how he longed to lean further and be caught in a sleeping spell with this woman, just so he can live in this dream for eternity... The language of the elves had rarely been sung in so extraordinary a manner. There remained the echoes of her harp surrounding the room, like the trailing light of an evening star passing. He slowed himself to an easy stand, but though her visitor maintained his glorious posture, he found his once agile knees were suddenly now very shaky. Legolas had begun to slip into formal Sindarin at this point. "Your skill is truly a gift from above, fair maiden of Lorien..." 

**Laurelome** She opens her eyes once more to see the prince standing, and her smile came softly at his words. She stood as well, the fine material of her dress whispering as she moves to collect his hands, much in the same manner as he had done earlier, upon arriving. They were warm, and she clasped them tenderly. She felt a blush spread to her cheeks. She had always been imperturbable, not matter what praise was given for her singing, but his words meant much more to her than anything she had been told in all her years. It was as if she'd forgotten there was a world outside this lush talan, and if she hadn't forgotten, she wanted to. What mission he was on, she could not guess, but it would take him away from her again. 

**Laurelome** Internally, she railed against that thought. She knew if he left - when he left - there would be no other station in the lands she could ride to and await him at. A soft sigh of sadness crossed her soft lips. "If it is a gift, then I would it were one I could give to only you." 

**Legolas** He remained timid as a hare, only just now gathering the courage to look up from the ground into the light in her eyes. He had never felt confusion such as this before. It was a most heavenly experience. The remembrance of her soft touch will remain with him unto the ages, for no love-struck creature had ever took an interest in him with so much passion. He was bound to the moment by a love that transcended even the evil poured into the One ring. The harsh reality of his existence was put away for but a few moments, and laced with the innocence of the most precious creature he dared to fall in love with. Legolas allowed Laurelome to play with his fingers as though they were the strings of her harp. He was lost and beside himself. So accustomed was he to slaughter and bloodshed in the days before them that the glow of her elven hands no longer appeared commonplace over his own. 

**Legolas** Elves were the eternal bearer of light. Since his departure from Rivendell, Legolas had seen his brightness turn dull from the pure silk that was his skin. It was lost to him days ago, when orc and goblin blood splatterd his figure and tainted him out of glamour. So bright was her glow that he wanted to be enveloped within it. Small experience in matters of the heart made Legolas appear childish, though his strong emotions pulled him closer to Laurelome so that his face neared hers. Here, he no longer knew what to do. The uncertainty was evident on his face, yet he advanced slowly, near whispering along the smoothness of her temple. 

**Legolas** "Have you never seen an elven heart break, lady?" The prince's voice was carried so lowly that the wind could scant give its faint volume a lift. "For that is what mine will do should you place your beauty in my possession..." 

**Laurelome** It was her turn to look confused, or rather torn. "I would trust it to you in an instant, and yet, if it would cause such dire consequences, I would dare not, for your heart is too pure to be broken, and it would despair me to do so." Again, as she had done before, one of her hands left his and settled upon his cheek, drawing him gently down. There, her breath soft against his, she pressed her lips to his, and stepped forward to close the small distance. It was a moment of pure joy, so unlike any she'd known. His lips were so smooth, and her hand wandered of it's own accord to the back of his neck. Even if they never saw each other again, she would have this to remember, and though it would pale in comparison to his presence, it would hold her through her life. 

**Legolas** His trembling was given little chance to surface for he soon found himself amidst the most stirring sensation he had felt in a lifetime. His eyes slid to a close and did not open although his soul had drifted into her mouth and his chest felt steel with solidified longing. He was awkward at first and unsure, but when lovers kiss thoughts are absent. Indeed, the Sindarin visitor was afloat in bliss, not a worry or an outside impression to be had on his mind. Her lips were smooth and different from what he imagined it would feel like. They bid him to relax and follow her without question. Soon, if she were to continue, he would be on his knees... 

**Legolas** Pale hands slid in participation down the lengths of her side, resting lightly on either side of her waist. The material of her gown was infinitely softer than the rough hew of his archer uniform. Was this where his hands belong? Legolas couldn't help the appearance of the thought when Laurelome pulled away from him. His lips instinctly followed after her, his eyes fluttering open. A kiss was tenderly imprinted upon her forehead, remaining there three heartbeats long. Slowly retreating, Legolas appeared more earnest now than ever. His long, golden lashes were transfixed on her face, still sleepy with desire. "Fate has been challenged already by my being here," he found the voice to reply. 

**Legolas** "I will not ask anything of you that you will not give freely. But know now that you have bound me forevermore with desire. Even if I were to stray from Middle Earth, I would not cease in stargazing until I have seen your face once more. -I- will despair, if you fool yourself in thinking that my heart does not -want- to be broken by you... Oh, Starlight of Lorien, I would rather care to suffer a speared heart than be parted from you." At this, he peeled Laurelome's hand from his shoulder and searched for its companion at her side. With them, he slowly reached for his back and enfolded them to a close so that she was now embracing him. His own hands rested on the slippery lengths of her forearms. Now she would have to answer him. 

**Laurelome** Even after their lips parted, her eyes remained closed, soft lashes fluttering against her pale skin. "Yet I would give you anything you asked of me, without question. Anything." Her hands trembled as he guided them, for she too was a stranger to these feelings. Never had she given herself over to such pure longing. "I have already given my heart to you." Closing her arms more tightly, embracing him, she lowered her head to his shoulder and sighed softly, "It is worth challenging fate to spent even a moment in your arms, and indeed I wonder if, once you depart this place, I shall ever feel so warm again, save for in your embrace." 

**Legolas** "Then you leave me no choice but to carry you in my thoughts always," he responded with pure certainty, hugging her tightly. "On my word you will never be forgotten, for you now are the keeper of my heart. I would never ask you for anything." And then..."Then you leave me no choice but to carry you in my thoughts always," he responded with pure certainty, hugging her tightly. "On my word you will never be forgotten, for you now are the keeper of my heart. I would never ask you for anything." 

**Laurelome** Laurelome smiles into his neck. "And on my word, I shall not drop it, but hold it close to me always. "Leaning back, she parted with some reluctance. "Even if you must leave, I sense we shall have a few days between us before we must think of any such rending experience, and you said you wished to see all of Lorien. We will walk all the paths we may, and the ones we cannot travel now, we will come back and travel another time." 

**Legolas** This brought a genuine but passive smile to Legolas' lips, one of the few in his lifetime. He was content with the image of them walking along Lorien's waterways and skyhigh boardwalks. "My hand is yours," he responded at once, holding out just that for her to lead him with. A considerable amount of determination had elongated Legolas' posture and blanketed him with all the splendor alloted to high born elves. "Do not let what has yet come to pass harden your face, Starlight," his Sindarin interrupted the elven lament in the trees. Not soon thereafter, he added with hopeful joviality: "Our hearts will carry us to the canopy of this fair city and with it we may yet one day reach the sea." 

**Laurelome** She collects his hand tenderly in hers, and side by side, they walked down the winding staircase to the paths below, sunlight sinking into it's lodge, the moon showing already in sky through the trees. She looked about the paths with as much wonder as he-her home never ceased inspiring awe in the graceful woman of Lorien. "It is a thing to see in the evening, my dearest, when the lights are lit and the songs begin." 

**Legolas** Legolas's omnipresent curiosity returns and steals his attention away to the distant trees and the darkening black pitch of dusk lighted by orbs of soft amber from the hung lanterns in every direction. "Lorien has certainly made an impression to last the ages," he answered. Legolas turned his face away from the scene to trail his gaze after the languidly-floating boats in the far river. There seemed to be a procession in progress, for the swan canoes numbered in the twenties. "An elegy?" 

**Laurelome** The harper nods silently, her hand closing more strongly about his hand, a silent gesture that he did not have to bear the grief alone. All keenly felt the lost of Mithrandir in this gleaming country, Laurelome included. She had met the wizened old Pilgrim on occaison, and he had oft given her kind words of her music, and a willing ear to test her new melodies upon. Indeed it seemed as if he had spared a moment to each Elf at some time. Laurelome pauses in their walk by the river, bowing her head in respect to the passing. "Do not dwell, love. For even if he is indeed gone out of this world for all time, he has touched many people, and he will not be forgotten." 

**Legolas** He moved slightly behind Laurelome so he became her shadow. His faraway hand still clung to her own, but the stray on the left played lightly down the crimson tresses that fell on her back. He spoke to the ground when he spoke to her, for his head, too, was bent in memorial. "I have learned not to. For if I dwell on Gandalf the Grey's passing, he will cloud my soul with suffering to the last of my days. Such a quandary courage is, for it is the greatest men who fall hardest under the spell of the smallest leap of confidence." When Legolas raised his eyes to the passing parade, he frowned at a little at a particular figure that he saw. "The Lady of the Wood?" 

**Laurelome** She nods again. "That is she, Lady Galadriel. Is she not a sight to behold? So is so many contradictions and similarities all in one. I would not even presume to try and fit her into one description. She is many things." As the boats passed, she led him on along the path, towards the smaller rivers and streams, and the glades surrounding them. 

**Legolas** Their leisurely pace ought to have taken them a short distance, but the lengthy strides of the two elves covered ground quickly, even when time was against them. Legolas had enjoyed the long silence between them, with only the trail of lanterns to light their way, when suddenly his step faltered and he stopped to throw a pensive stare towards the water. A hand rubbed along his drawing shoulder and swept down across his chest, his face full of thought. "An archer parted from his bow..." he whispered to himself, but loud enough for her to catch his musing. He had just remembered the armaments he had unwittingly abandoned back at her cottage. "I have truly been speared in the heart..." 

**Laurelome** Suddenly pausing, a light frown playing across her delicate, yet sharp Elven features. "It could be in no safer place where it is, save for in your hands, and I assure you, you will not have need of it here, but if you wish it, we may turn back for it." 

**Legolas** The most feather-light of smiles rippled across the Sidran archer's face. His brows rose in gentle mockery of her, for he had only been thinking aloud. "And should a stray hobbit wander into your home and claim it for himself...?" Although his face was blank of folly, the exclamation near the end of Legolas' words made it obvious he was testing her wit. Under moonlight, he supposed, the lunar pull made his stoicism appear in strange forms. 

**Laurelome** Laurelome casts a questioning, but merry gaze back at him, a smile taking residence in her eyes and the corners of her lips. "..Then you would have not but one problem finding it again. Which of all the -four- Hobbits in the whole of Lorien has lain his sticky fingers upon it. I admit, four is a vast number to seek through, especially for such a -small- object." 

**Legolas** He had to fall back a step at that. "Small?" he echoed. A small, ambiguous laugh issued forth from Legolas, but its intention, whether condescending or imaginary haughtiness, could not be told. "Lady, the bow of Sindarin elves is crafted of the hardiest tree in Mirkwood--nowhere else can a bowman find darker wood or one so supple... I fear not, however." At this point, the archer had slightly turned his back away from her so his eyes could hide their mirth. "It is fact halflings prize the merry accompaniment of a harp more so than weapons..." 

**Laurelome** She answers his retort with good-natured irritation, "If you are seeking a way to rile a docile woman, sir, you have surely landed upon it. Although, my harp is larger than your precious bow, and thus all the easier to find amongst scampering Halflings." Laughing then, and tugging on his arm, she takes to leading him again. "I must beg a truce of this merciless teasing. The pilfering of my harp, I cannot jest of." 

**Legolas** 'A smile to remember for all the ages replied to Laurelome's prostestation. It had been Legolas' fiercest grin yet. "Sorry, my lady..." his light eyes danced with rare mischief. "We archers are easy prey to women's scorn..." That ended their brief tussle, for elves were by no means an expressive race. Folly was better left to humans. A smile to remember for all the ages replied to Laurelome's prostestation. It had been Legolas' fiercest grin yet. "Sorry, my lady..." his light eyes danced with rare mischief. "We archers are easy prey to women's scorn..." That ended their brief tussle, for elves were by no means an expressive race. Folly was better left to humans. 

**Laurelome** Laughing at that, she tugged him back towards her again, and met his lips with a tender kiss. "Come, the evening feast will begin shortly, and it too is one thing you would be unfortunate to miss seeing." With that, she started off towards a glade where there were many an Elf, and indeed Legolas' companions, making merry with food and drink and songs aplenty. She would forsake her harp for his company tonight. 

**Legolas** That became Legolas' first taste of women's games. Stunned into silence, he first had to regain his composure before following obediently after her. They separated at this point, walking apart from each other with some degree of civility. They were met with inquiring stares from several of the early attendants. Legolas escorted Laurelome to a handsomely-carved stone bench. Immediately, he realized she was one of the few maidens in the lot. Apart from the entire gathering, he spotted the hobbit Frodo next. The small creature had his hood about him and rested atop an empty bench, furry feet hanging still over the edge. Not far from him was Samwise Gamgee, who was no more than ten feet from the lad at all times. The archer prince motioned to change seats to pay the downcast halfling a visit... 

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Chapter three is in the works... give us your reviews! We thrive on approval. :>   
~Morgana 


	3. Searching For The Sun - Evening

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**Searching For the Sun**   
**Chapter Three******

**as roleplayed by**   
**Kabanas and Morgana******

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**Disclaimer: **Legolas belongs to Tolkien, and we thank him endlessly for creating such a fascinating character. Laurëlómë belongs to me, and to Legolas. In our usual style, this was written in an RP format, with Kris writing Legolas while I wrote Laurelome. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't like RPing from books unless the RP takes place within a period of time not written about in the book. Hence, this story and it's subsequent chapters take place within "gaps" in the trilogy. We're taking liberties with Legolas here, but nowhere in the story does it say that he never had a relationship with anyone. Artistic liscence, anyone? :> This is a continuing epic...   
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**Evening, Laurelome's talan, Lothlorien...******

**Legolas** It's twilight, and Legolas has snuck out from camp. Guided by the light of the moon, the Prince of Mirkwood is devoid of his bow and arrow this evening. He was going to abandon it for the company of another. Through the tall reeds of the snaking inlet carving Lothlorien, he follows the sound of the tiny river downstream to a solitary treehouse. 

**Legolas** Surely, at least twenty pairs of eyes followed him, but Celeborn's royal guards would have little say in the nobleman's business, whatever it was he was attending at Laurelome's. Swift and fleeting, he has soon scaled up the modest talan leading to her front step. Inside, he can hear her harp playing sweetly as birdsong. 

**Laurelome** A pair of flickering lanterns bathe the inside of the treetop talan in a warm golden light, illumanting the autumnal hair of the Elven woman seated gracefully upon a seat, eyes closed and delicate fingers playing lovingly across the strings of her harp. The instrument itself was as beautiful as the music coming from it, fine ivory wood, bearing the same silvery sheen as the trees that made up the city. 

**Laurelome** Mesmirizing to watch. The melody hanging in the air is an almost mournful hymn, as Elves are wont to be tellers of epic tales. The story Laurelome does not sing, but the emotions evoked by the chords are more powerful than any words that could be sung to this. Her visitor's silent footfall is drowned in her playing. 

**Legolas **"Have you never been told Earendil pauses over Lorien whenever you play, Laurelome?" The Sidran prince was situated just inside her household, his smile polite not unlike the way he also stood. His voice was heard barely over her playing, but it was gentle in its tone. Familiar. "That is what I felt on the way here. Earendil's eyes." 

**Legolas** motions behind him, into the lush moonlight, an appreciative smile and a hint of longing piercing the treetops. With seriousness more befitting to his character, he returned his tender gaze upon her. "Have I kept you waiting?" 

**Laurelome** halts in her playing, though her eyes remain closed as Legolas speaks, as if appreciating the gentle rythm of his voice. "Earendil pauses over Lorien anyhow, Amarionmelda." Laurelome replies in the High Elven tounge, rising to stand with the quiet whisper of her amber-hued gown. Crossing the room, she leans up to place a light kiss upon his cheek. "You have," she adds, amusement coloring her smooth voice. 

**Legolas** The frown creasing the archer's brow reflected upon his worry. Legolas was raised a gentleman--his concern easily fell prey to mockery. From women, for example. He wanted immediately to right his mistake, whether being late was an innocent offense or no. He'd never done this before. 

**Legolas** With skill trademark of an archer, he enfolded her hand in his own and lead her into the wooden plank, the light filtering through the high trees swallowing their delicate figures. "Then I would be at fault if I was to squander your precious time any further. What marvel of Lorien will I be seeing tonight?" 

**Legolas** For the past three days, he had done nothing but met her on rendezvous in this glade and given a tour of the whole of Lorien. However, Legolas kept quiet about enjoying every moment they spent together. These nights were important to him. 

**Laurelome** allows herself to be led, and gazes up at the evening sky, Earendil indeed seemingly posed directly above Lorien. Turning to face him, her free hand finding his, she catches sight of something odd, and smiles slyly. "We need not seek out any wonders this evening, for it seems one has landed upon my doorstep. What mischevious Perrianath has gotten their sticky fingers on your bow, my love?" 

**Legolas** While his Silme found humor in that, the Prince was all stealth and sharp ears. Always the vigilant archer. "None, for I have hidden it where no creature will fathom to look--beneath Master Gimli's feet." With some amusement, Legolas strolls with her down the bank, a smile crossing his lips. "Aphadarmme aen..." he whispered lowly, close to her ear. "We're being followed..." His voice is sweet as honey, and twice and potent. Around them, many pairs of eyes watched from the treetops. 

**Laurelome** smiles at the mention of the Dwarf. Their friendship intrigued her. But as he said, it could be in no safer place. Upon his second comment her own eyes, gleaming light blue in the moonlight, catch sight of the voyeurs. Subtly, she turns down a different path, one which would lead through the forests and to the hilltop of Cerin Amroth, upon which the white flowers of Lorien grew. No patrol would watch from there. 

**Legolas** In the city of eternal night, it seems odd a thing to hear the treetops stirring with such life. But Legolas was enchanted by the hum of activity here. Mystical noises followed their progress up the hill. Fleeting noises greeted them from the shadows. Even the green and silver colors predominant of the buildings seemed to sway with surreal movement. 

**Legolas** She had brought him here before; naturally it was his favorite pocket of earth in Lorien. He was lead towards their favorite clearing, where he sat himself down upon dew-stained grass, and stared at the city below in appreciative silence. "What would you like to hear when next we meet?" His face was calm but adrift, thinking of their reunion already. 

**Laurelome** settles on the grass beside him, legs curled under the hem of her richly-colored gown. She muses upon Legolas' question for a few moments. "I should like to hear of all the things you will have done by then, of your adventures, all the stories you will surely collect upon the way." She toyed lightly with his hand, her eyes gazing off at the rising moon. "I should like to hear that you still seek the sun." 

**Legolas** A pleasant smile spreads on the prince's face, too wide to be hidden. He rests his tired head upon her shoulder. "You want me to seek the sun, and yet I would rather search for starlight." His arms settle one of her knees between them, hands interlocked and rested on her silken-covered shin. The moon and sun connected in harmony. "Will you look for me?" 

**Laurelome** fixed her sea-blue gaze on the prince, a serious expression upon her defined elven features. "I will -always- look for you. Always." A slim hand came up to trail across his similarly elegant visage, to perhaps memorize it for those days ahead when she would watch the horizon and hope to see her beloved returning to her. 

**Legolas** Always. For an elf, that meant eternity. Legolas never saw himself searching for love and yet, it found him. There really were no words for the simple pleasure he found in being caressed her. Just a look or a touch from her could break him. He felt warm thoughts in her presence, and though he was not rash by nature, this divine connection of their souls felt no less than a fated union. What power, this woman had. Her fingertips trailing upon the soft valley of his face alone could make him content as a sleepy child. He lay still, thinking seriously. 

**Legolas** "Laurelome, I should like to tell you something… It has made my mind restless ever since Rivendell. I once thought I would visit the sea when my duties to the Ringbearer have been exhausted. I have never been, and yet I dreamed of seeing the white waves crashing upon golden sands long since I can remember. What would you say if I asked you to leave home and meet me halfway?" 

**Laurelome** 's smile was adoring. Elated. "My love, I would then ask you to name the time and place, and I would be there. Looking for you." She held no alliegances so strong to her home that she wouldn't given them up willingly and go wherever this man beside her asked her to go. She had lived centuries without this sort of love, and now - she would go anywhere and do anything for him. 

**Legolas** shared in her sentiment. Love in this time and age was a thing of rarity, even more so for soldiers. But when conventions were shattered, feelings bloomed, and rapture consumed an elf, it can be expected that the elf will hold on to love for dear life. Elves, by nature, fall hard during love and love deeply, loyally, lastingly. This Sidran archer was no different. His feelings for Laurelome were so consuming it threatened to change his attitude as a destitute, detached warrior forever. He knew now of his only weakness. It was her. Gently crawling onto his knees, he placed himself in front of Laurelome so their eyes could connect in that moment of pure happiness. 

**Legolas** In the distance, the skies were pale gray but unbroken by the long trees that would otherwise mar their view of the heavens, which were pregnant with stars. They sat on the hill, two bright, silent figures, exchanging thoughts which could only be read in each other's eyes. And then, without warning, he leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. Lorien continued sleeping despite of them. Noises of the night grew more ardent in their singing, as if cloaking the lovers from the rest of the world with a private sonnet. Above the melodies, only one thing was uttered. "Melanenye," he whispered, and continued to kiss her. "I love you."   
  
  


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Thanks to everyone who has begged us to write more! 

~Morgana 


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